


So Much Left Unspoken

by inoubliable



Category: IT - Stephen King
Genre: Bill Denbrough is a size queen pass it on, Insecurity, M/M, Oral Sex, Size Kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-22
Updated: 2018-09-22
Packaged: 2019-07-15 10:59:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,246
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16061717
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/inoubliable/pseuds/inoubliable
Summary: It’s been three days since Bill left the Uris house, stunned into a stupor, and since then he’s been pretty one-track minded. He has tried to distract himself with homework or chores or television, but for some stupid reason, all Bill can think about is Stanley Uris’ Big Dick.





	So Much Left Unspoken

**Author's Note:**

> This is a commission from @[tsavoritegem](https://tsavoritegem.tumblr.com) on tumblr, who asked for Stenbrough size kink. Thank you!

Bill finds out by accident.

It isn’t like he goes _looking_. He’s not like that, alright? He’s eighteen years old. He knows all there is to know about porn. If he wants to see someone naked, he’s got more than a few sites saved onto his computer. He doesn’t need to worry about what’s going on beneath his friends’ clothes.

But sometimes shit happens. Like freshman year, when Eddie nearly had a panic attack in the communal shower and Bill had talked him through it. He had only realized afterward that Eddie’s dick had been out there in the open the whole time. Some stupid, peripheral brain cell had remembered the way it looked. And then there was sophomore year, when Richie had stripped nude and ran the length of the football field during a home game on a dare, his dick free and flopping. And then, just a few months back, when Mike had spent the night and slept in his boxers, and Bill had absently noted that the outline of his penis was pretty above average.

Above average seems laughable, though, now that he’s seen Stan.

In his defense, Bill has honest to God never thought about it before — the size of Stan’s dick, he means. But, well. Now that he knows, things have started to make sense, like the way Stan always changes into his gym clothes in the privacy of a bathroom stall. Why he locks the bathroom door when he showers, without fail, even if it means no one can piss while he’s in there. Why he wears loose-fitting slacks and tight, restrictive underwear. God, he couldn’t just let that thing swing around unprotected. He’d throw his back out.

Bill has never seen a dick so big. Not that he’s seen a lot of dicks, outside of porn. But still. Stan is _packing_. It’s so big that the very sight of it struck him silent, and poor Stan had been too embarrassed to keep up his end of the conversation. So it had been thirty full seconds of awkward, charged silence, and then Stan had slammed the door in his face.

Bill hadn’t thought about it when he’d come into Stan’s room, unannounced. Stan wasn’t a particularly private person, usually. He didn’t have anything to hide.

Or so Bill thought.

And that’s another issue entirely: Bill’s thoughts. It’s been three days since Bill left the Uris house, stunned into a stupor, and since then he’s been pretty one-track minded. He has tried to distract himself with homework or chores or television, but for some stupid reason, all Bill can think about is Stanley Uris’ Big Dick.

They haven’t talked about it. Of course they haven’t. But Bill knows that Stan knows that Bill knows. He’s probably humiliating himself with it, the way he stares at Stan sometimes, eyes glazed over, thoughts in the gutter. Stan hasn’t mentioned it, but that’s just Stan. He’ll let this go if Bill lets him. He’ll forget it ever happened.

Thing is, Bill doesn’t want to forget. Which might be weird, but. He has some fucking questions.

Which is why he ends up outside Stan’s bedroom door again, three days after The Incident. He doesn’t barge in this time. It’s late. Mrs. Uris had looked rather surprised to find him on her doorstep at this hour, but Bill has always been a good kid, a trustworthy kid, and she had let him up without too much trouble. He told her he needed help with an assignment. He feels a little bad about lying to her, but it’s not like he could’ve just said out loud what he was really there for.

Stan, for his part, does not look surprised to see him. He opens his mouth to say something, then seems to think better of it. He steps back so Bill can come inside, not looking very happy about it.

Stan’s room is almost laughably clean, like always. The sheets are tucked in around the edges with militant precision, and the picture frames are perfectly centered on the walls. The hamper in the corner is empty, and there are no dirty clothes on the floor. The desk is free of clutter. The only thing on it is an open chemistry textbook. Did they have chem homework? Bill can’t remember.

“If you’re here to make fun of me,” Stan says after a long, tense moment, “you can turn right back around.” His voice is flat, almost emotionless, with only the tiniest waver.

Make fun of him? God. That’s the last thing on Bill’s mind.

“I’m not going to muh-make fun of you,” he says.

Stan stares at him. He’s not blinking. His shoulders are visibly tense. “Then why are you here?” he demands.

Bill, without thinking, drops his eyes. Without meaning to, he stares at the zipper of Stan’s pants. He privately wonders how Stan manages to fit so much behind it without anyone noticing.

“I…” he tries, but his voice trails off. There’s not a good explanation for why he’s here, and certainly not a decent one. But he’s never been shy before, not with the Losers, not with Stan. So he drags his gaze back up to meet Stan’s and says, “I wanna s-see it again.”

Neither of them breathe for several long, silent seconds. Bill’s heart pounds, hot and thick in his throat. He’s so nervous, which is stupid. He’s not the one being asked to expose his dick.

Stan swallows. Bill can hear the sound of it. “What?” he asks, then shakes his head, like he somehow misheard. “You can’t be serious.”

“I’m totally serious,” Bill says back, so sure of himself that he doesn’t stumble over the words. His voice sounds sort of desperate, which is probably weird. Then again, all of this is a little weird. He just admitted he wants to see his friend’s dick again. Does it get weirder than that?

Stan’s not looking at him anymore. His hand touches the back of his neck, like he’s nervous. He shifts unsteadily on his feet. “Bill,” he murmurs. He sounds shy. Embarrassed. But not disgusted, which Bill considers a win. “I’m not… I don’t…”

“You don’t h-have to if you don’t wuh-want to,” Bill assures him quickly. That’s the last thing he wants. “If you suh-say no, I’ll just g-go home and we’ll forget this ever happened.”

“You won’t forget what it looks like,” Stan points out, and he sounds strangely miserable about it.

“Well, n-no,” Bill admits. “D-Dicks like that don’t j-just get forgotten, dude.”

Bill expects Stan to laugh, or maybe to roll his eyes. He does not at all expect Stan to flinch like Bill struck him.

“Hey,” he says, his voice going soft the way it does when he’s comforting Eddie through a panic attack, the way he used to talk to Georgie when he started to throw a tantrum and refused to be consoled. “I’m sorry. I’m not muh-making fun of you. You know that, r-right?”

Stan nods, but he still isn’t looking at Bill. His eyes are downcast. He looks a little bit like he has crumbled in on himself. He looks… small, which is somewhat ironic. “I hate it,” he says quietly.

“Hate whuh-what?” Bill asks, not really sure where the conversation has gone.

Stan glares up at him, then back at the ground again. “ _It_ ,” he repeats, more emphatically, and the self-conscious way his shoulders hunch down makes Bill understand. Oh.

“Why?” Bill asks, without thinking. “There are guys who would k-kill for a dick like that.”

Stan scoffs, mean-sounding and derisive. “Then they’re stupid,” he says, matter of fact. “It’s not a good thing, Bill.”

Bill thinks it’s a great thing, but he has sense enough not to say that out loud. Asking to see his friend’s dick is one thing. Admitting how suddenly obsessed with it he is is something else entirely.

He opens his mouth to say something less foolish, but what actually comes out is, “Let me p-p-prove it to you.”

Stan finally looks up, startled into eye contact. Neither of them say anything for a handful of seconds that feel like hours. Bill is just starting to consider the best place to curl up and die in peace when Stan says, cautiously, “Prove _what_ to me?”

Bill has a few options. He could laugh it off. Say it was all a joke. Say this whole thing was a big prank and he could go home, jack off in the privacy of his own room, and they would never, ever, ever have to talk about it again.

But Stan already looks like he’s one unkind word away from shattering over this whole thing, like maybe he’s spent his life convincing himself no one would ever be interested in his monster dick, like he can’t for one second imagine Bill might genuinely be into it. So Bill sucks up his pride and says, unfalteringly, “Let me prove how good it is.”

Stan sucks in a breath through his teeth, such a sharp inhale that it whistles. He starts to say something, then stops. Starts again. Stops again. His hands move, but they’re just as indecisive as his mouth, falling open and then flexing closed at his sides. At one point, he balls them into tight fists and Bill has a sudden irrational fear that Stan’s going to punch him, but then all the fight drains out of Stan’s body and his shoulders go loose and his head tilts down like he can’t quite hold it up and he says, “Okay,” in the meekest voice Bill has ever heard.

There are a million ways Bill could do this. He could ease Stan slowly out of his clothes. He could let Stan remove them himself, guiding him with gentle words. He could probably kiss Stan, could touch him, could work him up good and loose and wanting. But Bill is not altogether patient, so he crosses the room in two long strides and falls to his knees right there in front of Stan. Stan gasps quietly, but he doesn’t back away. Bill takes that as permission and reaches for his belt.

Stan’s dick is just as big as Bill remembered. Maybe bigger, now that it’s up close and personal, hanging there right in his face. Stan’s not hard. He’s probably embarrassed, or maybe he’s not into this yet. That would make sense, considering Bill hasn’t given him much reason to be. Bill considers himself a good-looking guy, and him falling to his knees would probably do something to a fair number of men, but Stan obviously has more than a few hang-ups about someone being this close to his dick, which means Bill’s gonna have to work that much harder.

He puts his hands on Stan’s hips and pushes him backwards until Stan’s back is against the bedroom door. He looks sort of ridiculous, pinned there by Bill’s hands, almost fully clothed, his eyes just about as huge as his dick. Bill grins up at him. “Don’t be sc-scared,” he says.

“I’m not scared,” Stan says back, automatic, then pauses. He puts his hand in Bill’s hair. “Should I be scared? You’ve done this before, right?” His hand flexes, tightening so Bill can’t move. “Please don’t bite me.”

Bill laughs, but it comes out kinda throaty. He sort of likes the way Stan’s holding him in place. “I know what I’m d-doing,” he says, which sounds way better than _no, I’ve never done this before_. “Just r-relax, okay? Lemme take care of you.”

It’s such a cheesy line, straight out of porn, but still Stan’s hand slowly unclenches and he heaves a great breath, like he’s forcing himself to relax. Bill, encouraged by the reaction, works Stan’s pants down to his knees.

He’s actually not sure how to start. There’s so much he could do. He could use his fingers or his mouth or his tongue, all of which sound good. But first, he just wants to look.

Stan still isn’t hard, but he’s starting to chub up. Bill has the sudden thought that he hasn’t seen Stan hard, which means he can only get _bigger._ The idea is both intimidating and mouth-watering.

Bill has no idea why he likes this. All he knows is that it would probably pop his jaw out of place to take more than a couple inches of Stan’s dick into his mouth and the thought makes him dizzy.

Stan clears his throat. “You just gonna stare at me all night?” he asks. He sounds like maybe he’s teasing, but there’s an undercurrent of tension, serious and intense. He’s scared. He somehow still thinks Bill’s gonna laugh at him, or push him away, or back out.

Bill only knows one way to put his mind at ease, so he finally, finally wraps his fingers around Stan’s dick.

His fingers don’t… they don’t meet. He’d have to tighten his hand to an uncomfortable degree around Stan’s dick to make the tips of his thumb and middle finger touch. As it is, there’s about an inch of space between the two. Bill goes braindead for a second and he’s very seriously considering making up for that distance with his tongue, but then he realizes Stan has stopped breathing.

“Re- _lax_ ,” he says. His voice is much deeper than he expects, caught in his chest. He stares up at Stan, who is already staring back, wide-eyed. His eyes are dark, darker than Bill has ever seen them, and he starts to breathe again in small pants, his pink lips parted. Bill suddenly regrets not kissing him, but it’s too late for that now.

He strokes Stan once. Stan’s hips come up off the door, partly because of the friction. Bill’s hand is too dry, so he takes it back and spits into it. Stan winces, but if he starts to protest it fades off into a moan when Bill strokes him again, smoother this time, all the way down, then all the way back up.

“God,” Stan says, his voice tight, choked-sounding. His eyes are closed now, his head tilted back against the door. It’s an interesting reaction, considering Bill hasn’t even really started touching him yet. Has he never been touched like this before?

Probably not, Bill realizes. Especially considering the shy way he had avoided Bill’s eyes, the way he had seemed so sure Bill’s only intention was to laugh at him or put him on display like a circus freak. Has someone else made Stan feel bad about his size before? Or is it just Stan and his own issues?

He’s thinking too much. He’s still stroking Stan absently and Stan’s hips are flexing into it, his thighs straining like he’s trying not to hump Bill’s hand, but. But Bill can do better. He tightens his fingers, and puts his thumb underneath the head, rubbing the vein. It throbs under his touch. Stan exhales a shuddery moan. It’s loud. Bill shushes him, but he’s laughing.

“You l-like that, huh?” he asks, amused. Stan must be into it, because he doesn’t even get all uptight about the gentle teasing, just hums an agreement and pushes into Bill’s hand. Bill braces Stan’s hips with his arm, holding him still. “Hey, shh. I got you. I’m gonna make you feel g-good.”

Stan opens his eyes a slit, glaring down at Bill. “Did you get all your lines from porn?” he asks, tone biting. “Because you sound just like a — _aah!_ ”

Bill smiles smugly, then rubs the flat of his tongue over the head of Stan’s dick again, several times in quick succession until Stan’s knees are shaking. Then he pulls off. “You wuh-were saying?” he asks, but Stan shakes his head quickly, reaching for Bill. He puts his hand back in Bill’s hair and guides him forward, whispering _please please please_ so fervently that Bill can’t tell him no. Not that he really wants to.

He can fit the head of Stan’s dick into his mouth, but not much beyond that. Well, it doesn’t matter. He’s not trying to deepthroat here. He’s very aware of his own physical limitations. Besides, Stan doesn’t seem to mind. If anything, he didn’t even expect this much, given the startled, wide-eyed way he’s staring down at Bill’s mouth.

God, Bill’s mouth is going to bruise. He wonders how long that will last. He wonders if he’s going to wake up tomorrow and go about his day with a mouth that’s still recovering from the wide stretch of having Stan’s dick inside. The thought makes him shiver. He hasn’t really thought much about his own dick, but he suddenly can’t resist fumbling open his own jeans, taking himself in hand.

He realizes with a start that he’s close. God, he’s about to come, just from this. Just from having Stan’s dick in his hand. In his mouth. He closes his eyes and tightens his lips, his tongue toying along the ridge of Stan’s dick, pressing down with purpose. He rubs up against the underside, and it must be particularly sensitive there because Stan’s hand flexes in his hand and his entire body shakes. “Right there,” he mumbles, almost to himself, face tipped up to the ceiling like he’s praying. “Oh, fuck, right there.”

Bill keeps his tongue there, pushing down firmly and then letting up to trace delicate patterns. He starts moving, too, a gentle back-and-forth that makes his jaw ache but is so worth it for the way Stan’s legs tremble. His free hand comes up after awhile, taking hold of the first half of the several inches his mouth can’t reach. He’s drooling a little, enough to make things sloppy and wet-sounding, and his hand glides smoothly now. Stan is babbling to himself, praising Bill with fast, fervent whispers, but Bill’s heart is pounding so hard he can’t really make out the words.

But then Stan groans, low and long, and his hand tightens like he’s trying to pull Bill off. “I’m close,” he says, somewhere between a whine and a warning. “I’m so close, Bill.”

It’s the first time Stan has said his name. His shoulders jerk and his hand moves along his own dick faster than ever, matching the rhythm he’s using to break Stan apart. Stan is gasping for breath like he can’t get enough air. The grip he has on Bill’s head is almost painful until, suddenly, his hand is gone and it’s slamming against the door, a loud _bang_ that covers the way he cries out, coming suddenly, forcefully. Bill catches most of it in his mouth but the force of it catches him by surprise and it streaks across his lips and his chin and his cheeks. It doesn’t taste good, but the idea that he made Stan come like that is enough to jumpstart his own orgasm and he trembles through it, pushing his forehead against Stan’s hip.

He has to look like such a mess. He’s smeared with come, and his lips are tender and bruised, and he’s sorta out of it, fuck-drunk. But Stan stares down at him like he’s an actual angel, his expression so awed that Bill has to laugh.

“Was it g-good?” he asks, just to stroke his own ego. His voice is rough.

Stan hums an affirmative. “So good,” he breathes.

“Almost as good as your dick,” Bill says, just to be annoying.

Except this time, Stan doesn’t disagree.

**Author's Note:**

> Find me on [tumblr](http://hanscom.tumblr.com).


End file.
